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I sit where youth was once； and feel
That I am growing old。
Page： 227
The lustre from the face of things
Is wearing all away；
Like one who halts with tired wings；
I rest and muse to…day。
There is a river in the range
I love to think about；
Perhaps the searching feet of change
Have never found it out。
Ah！ oftentimes I used to look
Upon its banks； and long
To steal the beauty of that brook
And put it in a song。
I wonder if the slopes of moss；
In dreams so dear to me …
The falls of flower； and flower…like floss …
Are as they used to be！
Page： 228
I wonder if the waterfalls；
The singers far and fair；
That gleamed between the wet； green walls；
Are still the marvels there！
Ah！ let me hope that in that place
The old familiar things
To which I turn a wistful face
Have never taken wings。
Let me retain the fancy still
That； past the lordly range；
There always shines； in folds of hill；
One spot secure from change！
I trust that yet the tender screen
That shades a certain nook；
Remains； with all its gold and green；
The glory of the brook。
Page： 229
It hides a secret to the birds
And waters only known：
The letters of two lovely words …
A poem on a stone。
Perhaps the lady of the past
Upon these lines may light；
The purest verses； and the last
That I may ever write。
She need not fear a word of blame …
Her tale the flowers keep …
The wind that heard me breathe her name
Has been for years asleep。
But in the night； and when the rain
The troubled torrent fills；
I often think I see again
The river in the hills；
Page： 230
And when the day is very near；
And birds are on the wing；
My spirit fancies it can hear
The song I cannot sing。
The End